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bluelockmaniac · 1 month ago

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"𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞... 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭?!"

ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, michael kaiser, mikage reo, seishiro nagi, isagi yoichi, barou shoei x fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ synopsis. surprising your bllk husbands with creative pregnancy reveals!

content warning. fem, wife!reader. suggestive (pull-out game, baby fever, etc). pet names. teeny tiny bit of angst in kaiser's part. twins. nagi feigning ignorance. lots of kisses because yeah. 4.5k wc!

notes. heavily inspired by peachy pregnancy reveal videos on yt!

𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

you had never fought so hard to contain laughter in your life.

it was a quiet afternoon, and you were resting on your bed when sae suddenly barged into your shared bedroom, looking slightly confused.

his brows were furrowed, and his lips were slightly parted. he had just finished taking a shower, water droplets dripping down his skin, and a towel hung loosely around his waist.

but what really caught your attention was the pile of clothes draped over the bend of his elbow. clothes that you had instantly recognized.

“tsk,” he clicked his tongue in irritation, tossing the garments onto the mattress one by one. “the dumbass dryer shrunk my clothes.”

now laying on the bed were three tiny white shirts, a pair of tiny running shorts, and most importantly an identical replica of his football uniform, complete with sae’s name printed on the back. each piece looked unmistakably his, just tiny.

but little did he know that you had swapped his freshly dried clothes with their baby-sized counterparts while he was in the shower.

the uniform had taken the most effort as you had to customize and order it online rather than simply purchasing it in store, but the results were definitely worth it.

you pressed a hand to your mouth, a soft laugh escaping despite your best efforts to appear innocent. though it was a completely natural reaction for this situation, you doubt he’d find it suspicious.

“that’s the first time that’s ever happened, right?” you crawled closer to inspect the small jersey. you held it up for sae to see, beaming at him. “but it’s so cute! don’t you think so too?”

sae glanced at your sparkling eyes, and rolled his eyes. he turned toward his dresser, shaking his head slightly. “it’s cute. give it to some fan at my next game.”

like hell you would. you hugged your knees as you eagerly watched him reach for his calvin klein boxers. he could feel your stare burning a hole through his head and turned to you with a raised brow.

“what? you that excited to watch me strip, mi cariño?”

you grinned and gave him a thumbs up. “yeah, i am. keep going, you’re doing great so far.”

sae sighed but you could see the tiny smile that was ghosting his lips. he pulled on his boxers, until he suddenly froze, his fingers stilling on the waistband of the undergarment. your smile widened.

his gaze darted between the tiny clothes on the bed and the neatly folded ones– his clothes– you had placed on his dresser.

“love.” he said quietly. he walked over to the bed, eyes locked onto yours as he climbed over you. he gently pushed you until your back met the mattress, his frame hovering over you.

“are you pregnant?”

you giggled. “maybe.”

his teal eyes narrowed slightly. he reached up and pinched your cheek. “answer properly. i asked, are you pregnant?”

a breathy laugh slipped past your lips as you nodded. “i am.”

for a split second, he just stared at you, dead silent. then, he let out a soft grunt, muttering under his breath.

“knew something was off. you’ve been acting weird.”

you snorted, “excuse me?”

he tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking at the corners. “didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

he leaned down. he kissed your forehead first, then the tip of your nose, and finally, your lips. when he pulled away, there was a subtle smirk on his lips.

“my pull-out game was shit.”

you laughed softly as you ran your fingers through his damp, reddish hair, your voice smug. “i don’t blame you. i just feel way too good.”

his smirk twitched as he flicked your forehead lightly. “don’t get too cocky or i might just have to plant baby number two.”

𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍

“sir,” the police officer began professionally as he approached rin’s car parked in the public lot, tapping on the driver’s window.

rin paused his conversation with you, casting a side-glance at the cop. he raised a brow before rolling down the window. “what?” he asked bluntly.

the officer leaned a little against the window frame, nodding his head respectfully. “i’m going to have you stop here. you have a child in the vehicle with no child seat.”

rin stared at the man like he was an idiot, then slowly turned to look at you, scoffing in disbelief. “get a load of this guy.” he muttered. you bit your bottom lip hard to suppress your laughter, fingers tightening around the purse in your lap.

turning his head back to the officer, rin narrowed his eyes. “are you a dunce? does it look like there’s a child in the backseat?” rin asked him with annoyance. “seems like they purposely hire lukewarm idiots who lack proper qualifications. you’re not fit for this job.”

“sir, i need you to calm down. it’s simply protocol. i’ll have to fine you.”

as your husband continued arguing with the poor officer who was actually only carrying out his part of your arrangement, you quietly retrieved the positive pregnancy test out of your purse. a warm smile graced your lips.

the officer, who was busy distracting rin, caught your movement and tried to mask the smirk that was threatening to appear. he played along, “ma’am, are you positive about this?”

that seemed to set rin completely off. “do you need to enter the car to see for yourself, you dumbass cop? i told you, there is no fucking child in this ca–”

“actually,” you interrupted sweetly, “we do have a child in the car with no child seat.”

as soon as he heard your voice, he stopped mid-sentence. rin turned to face you, only to find a pregnancy test held up in your hand, two pink lines etched clearly. his teal eyes flitted back and forth between your smiling face and the test, blinking slowly in realization.

“... you’re not joking, are you?”

you laughed softly as you shook your head. “no, rinnie. i’m pregnant.”

he stared at the pink lines for a while longer, then muttered something under his breath and reached to roll the windows up, shutting out the content cop with a glare. you shot him a quick nod of thanks through the glass before rin turned fully to face you.

he already knew you’d be a perfect mother with the way you naturally loved and cared for him. as for him? it’ll take him some time to figure out this whole parenting thing.

“didn’t think you could surprise me anymore.” he muttered, threading his hand through his dark green hair as he leaned back against the headrest.

“i think you’ll be just fine,” you murmured softly as you leaned in and gently pried his hands away from his face, your eyes locking onto his teal ones. “but you better be nice to me, baby. i’m going to be extra sensitive from now on, you hear me?”

his brows furrowed slightly before he took your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to look at him. “after you set this whole thing up with a cop– a male, no less? yeah, i don’t think so.”

“oh?” you teased, giving him a lopsided grin as you leaned closer. “is the great itoshi rin actually jealous? hm. it looks good on you.”

rin scoffed, but his grip on your chin loosened. “you’re my wife. mine. not his.”

you laughed gently as you took his hand and slipped it under your shirt, guiding it to your stomach. “you don’t have to remind me. i never forgot.”

his gaze softened as he felt the slight swell of your stomach, where the child he (unintentionally) created with you was beginning to grow. he looked at you calmly before resting his hand on the small of your back, drawing you in. rin’s lips ghosted over yours teasingly, but never actually meeting.

you huffed. “you’re a cruel man.”

a rare smile tugged at his lips as he pressed a kiss to your temple, then leaned away. silently, he reached across and buckled your seatbelt for you, probably his attempt at being a gentleman. he didn’t meet your eyes, but you could practically hear the smile in his words.

“let’s go home quickly,” rin said as he started the car. “we need to take advantage of the time we have left before you’re too far along.”

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

it was christmas. coincidentally, kaiser's birthday as well.

the two of you had just finished eating together, and now you were lounging on the couch, sitting comfortably on his thigh with his arm lazily draped around your waist. there were many gift bags of different sizes scattered on the fuzzy carpet– a couple big ones, a few medium-sized, and a particularly small one.

kaiser scanned the pile, his crystal blue eyes glinting as he turned to you with a smirk on his face. “hmm, you like me that much, meine liebe?”

you met his teasing stare with silence, then gently cupped his face and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. you’ve come to learn that this method always catches him off guard, and as you expected, it did just that this time as well. his eyes widened slightly just slightly before his lashes fluttered shut.

“ah.”

“i do,” you murmured against his lips, your voice airy. you pulled away with a content smile. “now hurry up and open them. i'm excited to see your reaction.” you leaned your head against his shoulder, fingers toying with the sleeve of his warm sweater.

kaiser reached for the first bag, tearing through the wrapping carelessly. “a pair of cleats, huh?” he raised a brow, looking at you with an unimpressed, mocking expression. “didn't need them. my cleats are brand new.”

your brows knitted together. “i didn’t get them because you needed them. got them because you suck at choosing anything that isn’t boring.”

“oh, you wound me,” he pinched your waist playfully before rubbing the spot soothingly. “i was just joking, liebe. promise.”

for the next half-hour, he continued opening the gift bags. brand new sunglasses, a watch, new cologne, a mirror since he loves admiring himself, and things of the sort. each gift was met with some sarcastic remark, but there was always a gentle touch here and an appreciative touch there.

then–

“micha.” you tapped his shoulder, pointing at the relatively tiny bag sitting on the carpet near his feet. “you missed that one.”

his brow arched. he picked it up and placed it on your lap since your legs were swung over his. “didn’t see it. it’s so tiny.” he inspected it for a second before slipping his hand inside. he side-eyed you, chuckling. “why does such a tiny bag have so much wrapping anyway?”

you hummed, pressing a kiss to his neck before nestling your head back against his shoulder. “mm. dunno. maybe this one’s important.”

he pulled something out. and froze.

you could almost hear his heart thumping in his chest as he slowly flipped the pregnancy test over in his hand. and there it was. two vertical pink lines.

positive.

an awkward silence stretched between you two. you let out a soft huff, gazing at him lovingly as you watched his reaction.

he didn’t say a single word for what felt like eternity. then, he turned to look at you. “are you serious?” his voice lacked his usual teasing.

“yes.”

“are you actually serious?” he repeated.

you laughed. “i’m positive. literally.”

“holy fuck.”

kaiser inhaled sharply, exhaling through his nose as he put a hand on his forehead and slumped back against the couch. he tugged you with him until you were sprawled against his chest. still, he didn’t speak.

again, there was silence as you pulled a warm blanket over both of you and snuggled closer. you sighed blissfully against him, until something wet landed on your cheek.

you blinked.

tilting your head, you tried to get a better look at him. but your eyes just widened.

“micha? … baby? … michael?” your voice softened, “my love, are you crying?”

you had never seen him like this before. the usual cocky arrogance completely gone, his jaw clenched as if he was trying to compose himself. then, without a word, he cupped the back of your neck and pulled you back into him to cover his face. his arms wrapped around you tightly, his lips pressed firmly against the top of your head in a long kiss.

“tch, stupid. of course not.” he murmured against your hair, breathing in your familiar scent. “our kid’s gonna have your smile. i already know it. and i’m screwed because that’s going to kill me everytime.”

and as he felt your arms tighten around his waist, he’d already decided he was going to be a better father for his child than his dad ever was for him.

𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈

“sei, come onnn!” you whined, tugging insistently at your husband’s arm in an attempt to pry him away from his gaming chair. it proved to be ineffective as his eyes remained glued to the sniper game on his screen.

but the second you tugged just a tiny bit harsher, you threw off his aim, causing him to get shot by the enemy.

“ah, shit,” he muttered as the ‘game over’ screen flashed before him, his broad shoulders sagging slightly. you felt bad, but only for a split second, so you quickly shook those feelings away— you had something important to reveal after all.

seishiro took off his headset with a dramatic huff, then swiveled his gaming chair to face you. his massive arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close until his face was buried against your stomach. “what is it, pretty?” he sighed into your shirt.

you grinned. “i need to show you something real quick.”

you didn’t give him a chance to protest, practically dragging his lazy frame out of the chair and toward the kitchen, with him following sluggishly behind you.

when you finally stopped, he glanced around, confused. “there’s nothing new…?”

you laughed and pointed at the oven. “open it.”

his brow arched with slight suspicion, but he did as you asked, crouching down and pulling the oven door open. he reached and grabbed the singular item sitting alone on the rack—

“a bun?” he questioned, his white brows knitting together as he stood back up. he seemed almost disappointed and you could only guess he assumed you had prepared him some lavish meal. but hey, you had already figured he’d be a bit slow and would need some extra help.

you bit back a giggle and leaned against the kitchen counter, a smile gracing your lips. “think about it, baby.” you encouraged, “could you tell me what you just found?”

it was almost cute how he was eyeing the bread roll that seemed almost miniscule between his fingers. “i found a bun… in the oven.” he repeated slowly. you watched as his droopy, half-lidded eyes went wide in what you thought was realization, until his lips parted again.

“did we run out of food?”

you smacked your forehead. “are you dense?” you placed your hands on your hips and let out a semi-annoyed sigh. “it’s an expression people say when—”

you were suddenly cut off when he bent down, grabbed the hem of your shirt, and lifted it just enough to place a tender kiss on your bare stomach. “i know,” he murmured against the soft skin, and you could feel his lips curling into a slight smile.

your breath hitched, warmth rushing to your cheeks as he straightened himself up and tangled his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

“sei…” you whispered, raking your fingers through his snowy-white hair, still a bit caught off guard. perhaps he wasn’t as dense as he seemed. then, you shivered when his cold palm slid under your shirt and rested against your stomach. he quietly chuckled at your reaction, leaning down until his lips grazed your ear.

“i was actually suffering terribly from baby fever, so i’m glad i didn’t pull out.”

your mind short-circuited as you gawked up at him with widened eyes, but he only gently patted your head with a lazy smile.

geez. what had gotten into him?!

𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐎

reo had just pulled into the driveway of his mansion after treating you to an extravagant dinner at a five-star restaurant, your first date with him in quite a while. he patted your thigh affectionately as he turned off his rolls royce, but to his surprise, you simply unbuckled your seatbelt and stayed seated, your hands moving to dig through your purse.

his eyes flicked to you and his lips curved into his signature smile. he figured you were just waiting for him to open the car door for you, the usual princess treatment he was all too familiar with. “right. being away in england for so long made me forget how much my wife loves getting spoiled.”

but before he could make a move to exit the car, your fingers gripped onto his suit, pulling him gently back to his seat. he looked slightly startled, and glanced back at your giddy face with a raised brow. his gaze dropped to the small, silver card in your hand.

“what’s this, baby?” he asked, turning his body towards you.

“a custom-made scratch-off card,” you replied, handing it over to him. “just scratch it.”

your heart was pounding against your ribcage as you watched him flipping the card over, examining it, before fishing out a coin from the cup holder.

“if that’s what you want, princess,” he teased, “though if it’s a lottery ticket, you should know i’m not exactly lacking in that department.”

reo hummed as he started scraping at the surface. you bit your lip excitedly as the first bit of silvery dust flaked off, the image underneath beginning to reveal itself. his movements slowed, and his amethyst eyes widened as the layer was completely removed.

the sonogram appeared.

reo’s fingers tightened around the card, a breathless laugh escaping him as he shook his head in disbelief. a grin stretched across his lips, looking at you in awe.

you were unable to hold in your breath any longer. you let out a laugh, tilting your head to look at him from a better angle. “well, reo?”

“i’m going to be a father?”

“what does the sonogram say?”

he chuckled lightly, running a hand through his purple hair as he let the card fall into his lap. “how long have you known?”

“since you left for england,” you said as you shifted happily in your seat.

he reached over, cupping your nape as he pulled you into a slow kiss. relief washed over you so quickly it made your head spin.

he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as his hand trailed down to your stomach. “i wonder if it’ll be a girl or boy,” he murmured.

“could be both, actually.” you cut in, and he looked at you strangely.

“what do you mean?”

you grinned, gently brushing his jaw as you leaned back against your seat. “check the sonogram again.”

reo raised a brow, his curiosity piqued as he took the card back into his hand to inspect it. before long, his eyes widened comically as he saw a second fetus in the ultrasound.

“are you serious? we’re having twins?”

you laughed softly as you laced your arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “that’s riiight. prepare to spoil me tenfold, reo. you’re going to be feeding three people in one body now.”

his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist as he pressed his lips against yours once again in a sweet kiss, still dazed by the realization that he’s going to be a father to not one, but two children. “... there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“good,” you whispered, smiling as you kissed the tip of his nose before leaning back into your seat. “start by opening the car door for your pregnant wife.”

“yeah, yeah. anything for my spoiled princess.” he replied with an excited grin, finally exiting the royce. needless to say, you were not going to lift a single finger during this pregnancy.

𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐘𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈

“b-baby, slow down!” isagi gasped as you shoved him towards the bedroom, kicking the door open and dragging him inside.

“on the bed, yoichi!” you ordered him with a grin on your face, watching with satisfaction as he reluctantly sat down on the edge of the mattress. he sighed with fondness, watching as you clumsily rummaged through the closet, before finally pulling out a blue shirt.

you walked over, placing the shirt face down on the bed to keep the words hidden. then, with no warning, you pushed his thighs apart, placing yourself between his legs as you reached for the hem of his shirt.

isagi raised an eyebrow, already amused. there’s nothing that should surprise him anymore with you, but somehow you prove him wrong every single time.

“are you trying to seduce me?” he smiled, lifting his arms with no resistance, allowing you to pull his shirt over his head.

you playfully smacked his chest. “trying? i already did, yo. you made it too easy.”

he rolled his eyes as his cheeks tinted a light pink. “whatever… you’re too cute.”

“close your eyes. no peeking while i’m putting this on you,” you said, grabbing the shirt off the bed. isagi’s eyes closed obediently, and he felt the fabric tighten around his torso as you slipped the shirt over his head.

“woww, you didn’t even get my size right,” he joked, opening his eyes but not looking down.

you whistled softly, letting your hand wander over your husband’s chest. “i know your size, but you just look hotter with a tight shirt.”

your fingers encircled isagi’s wrist as you dragged him across the room, excitedly positioning him in front of the tall mirror in the corner. “okay! read the shirt!”

he blinked, confused at first, then turned his gaze to the mirror, squinting his eyes as if that would help him decipher the reversed letters.

“be… nice to me… I’m going… to be a… fa…ther…?”

he froze, the last word catching in his throat. his blue eyes snapped to you, wide and stunned. “i’m gonna be a father?? you’re pregnant? actually?”

you smiled and buried yourself in his arms, your fingers mindlessly tracing the letters on his shirt. “i’ve taken three tests. all positive.”

before you could say anything else, he hooked his hands under your arms and lifted you into the air, his forearm supporting your ass and his other hand on your waist.

“god, i love you so much,” he laughed breathlessly, “give me a kiss.”

still laughing, you cupped his face and gave him a sweet peck on his lips.

“another one,”

you leaned in, pecking his lips a second time.

“that’s not enough,”

“you lovesick idiot,” you sighed, smiling helplessly. you leaned in again, but this time, he met you halfway. his hand on the back of your head, holding you in place as he kissed you deeply. the gasp you let out was quickly swallowed by his lips.

he set you down as if he had not just stolen your breath away, patting your head affectionately.

“thank you, my love.”

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐈

it should have been a normal day. barou should have followed his usual routine– wake up before sunrise, gel his hair, take a shower, and leave for his daily hardcore strength training.

but today was different. at exactly 5:12 a.m, barou opened his eyes with a low grunt and propped himself up with one elbow. instinctively, he leaned over to place a kiss on your forehead like he always did, only to stop once he was met with your wide eyes staring directly at him.

he scowled. “the hell are you lookin’ at me like that for?”

he tried to blink his morning irritation away, then dragged a hand down his face before reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “why are you awake?” his low voice was even more hoarse from sleep.

you groaned softly before scooting closer and snuggling against his bare, muscular chest. he let out a soft grunt, though his arm automatically wrapped around your waist.

“shoei… i’m hungry,” you mumbled into his skin.

“tch,” he clicked his tongue, pulling back slightly to look at you. “what, you want pudding? eggs? i’ll make something. i was getting up anyway.”

he rolled over and switched on the bedside lamp with a sigh, squinting to see you better.

but you shook your head and leaned forward, resting your chin on his shoulder with that sweet look he hated to admit always worked on him. “no… i really want pickle-flavoured ice cream. or a lotus biscuit with mayo on top…”

barou made a face. blinking at you judgmentally once, twice, and a third time before he placed a big palm on your abdomen and gently pushed you back onto the mattress.

“you’ve lost your mind,” he shrugged, tugging the blanket over you. he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. “go to sleep. you’re talkin’ nonsense.”

but you whined, tugging at his sturdy arm. sparkly eyes looking up at him. “i’m serious, shoei… i really, really want them…”

barou narrowed his eyes. “why would you want to eat that garbage?”

“please?” you batted your lashes, “for your beautiful wife?”

he sighed, standing up begrudgingly as he scratched the back of his neck. “god, you’re annoying…”

your eyes lit up, and before he could turn away, you got up and wrapped your arms around his neck, peppering his face with kisses. “thank you!”

barou rolled his eyes and grabbed your cheeks between his fingers, squeezing them gently. “you’re a weird woman. suddenly craving crap combinations.”

you buried your face in his chest, nodding with a sheepish laugh.

he snorted, “what are you, pregnant or somethin’?”

as soon as he said what was intended to be a joke, you both froze. right… questionable cravings were a symptom of pregnancy.

“aha… y-you think?” you asked, laughing awkwardly. your eyes widen suddenly. “shit, my period is a few days late…”

his large hand silently found yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. “stay here. i’ll deal with the food,” he muttered. “and you’re takin’ a damn test after.”

you blinked. “what about practice?”

he didn’t look at you as he walked to the door.

“skipping. you always come first.”

—

“oi,” you heard barou’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door. followed by a light knock. “you okay? you’ve been in there for thirteen minutes.”

you opened the door slowly. he was standing there with his arms crossed, shirtless, with a towel around his neck. he looked at you with his usual stoic face. “well?”

you held out the positive pregnancy test with a meek smile playing on your lips. barou glanced at the stick, staring at the pink lines.

“...huh. guess this thing’s my fault.”

you let out a soft laugh, sniffling slightly. he pulled you in until your forehead bumped against his bare chest. his grip was gentle despite how rough his hands were. “we’re having a kid,” he muttered into your hair.

you smiled up at him, twinkly eyes, and his hand shot up to wipe away at the tears you didn’t know were falling. “don’t cry. i’ve dealt with two younger sisters.”

“i can take care of you.”

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suckinitup · 11 months ago

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everytime i think about arthur bennett i think about the airport bathroom nap. gently smoking. recently almost killed. having the absolute Worst fucking time. im too tired to give a full analysis but i also keep thinking about when grizly said something derisive about pathetic characters and them being fan favourites. he can have his own opinion idc- but i also think that it's Notable how i only got attached to arthur after he completely fucked up his entrance in ep 1, and more attached when he terrified that lady with the serial killer vibes, and Because of that was able to appreciate the awesome awesome moves of surviving a whole team of vampire hunters. its the BALANCE thats so so important. you can't have a character that's always perfect, always doing x y z thing right and stoically, because then it doesn't matter when they're doing things right. why should i care about this character if i know theyre going to go in there, say something mildly wise, and then saunter coolly back out with wild explosions behind them? whatever.

but ARTHUR. because he is an rpg guy. is trapped by the whims of the dice and the world. he's the idea of a cool, suave vampire mentor placed into a world where approaching a women in a car park at night is an extremely terrifying thing to do. there are consequences to his actions!! he's not perfect!! he's just a guy who thinks that appearances are important. he has spent so long vamping it up that interacting with humans is difficult for him. he faces problems and overcomes those problems because he is competent (anya; airport sunlight) NOT because he's cool and cool things happen to cool guys. he is desperate to find a cure. his flaws and failures have turned him into a guy, not a story's mechanism, who feels emotion, who does really catty things, who gives up so much that he prides himself in, and that matters. because he is capable of actual failure instead of conceptual, dry, trope failure, it matters when he succeeds, and it gives the audience the opportunity to root for him as a character instead of someone's idea of a character.

idk this is mostly sparked by me not liking arthur so much in the beginning, but i really started to appreciate him as he settled into the story. go vamp boy go relive extreme loss and then get stuck in the airport bathroom. ill be dining cheerfully on the character traits that have gotten to shine because of it

#to private #<- just in case i wanna find it again at some point #this is my tiny blog i dont think its gonna go anywhere #but there are certain character archetypes/approaches to roleplay that i Do Not Like #which arthur has managed to sidestep entirely and im fascinated by how he did that #he's doing his best !!#and his best isn't a superpower #so its Actually Satisfying when his efforts get good results #<- there that's a good summary for this whole fuckin thing lmao #the suck

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a-hermit-pining · 3 months ago

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LADS Men React a Picture of You with Another guy

Request: Hii!! I love your writing so so much (pls never stop)!!! How do you think the lads men would react to the following scenario: mc makes one of her girl friends dress like a guy and post that on her story/moments (to ward off an annoying co-worker, like what Caleb did in uni, but mc didnt want to bother the guys with this request so she asked Tara or another one of her girl friends). The picture, though, is convincing enough to make even the lads men question if she actually does have a partner and who tf is he. I think Xavier would absolutely malfunction since they are also neighbours lol

AN: I am taking a break from the ship event to gather some inspiration. But this was super fun to write. Thank you for sending in such an amazing idea.

Warning: Potential Spoilers. Be Mindful 👺

Pairing: Lads boys x fem reader

Genre: fluff and angst

(I do not own these characters)

Summary: Waking up after an amazing girls' night, you and Tara spent the morning taking silly photos, making all kinds of concerning faces, until inspiration struck.

"Wait, wait, hold on," Tara grinned, pushing her short hair back. "What if—"

Moments later, you were both giggling uncontrollably, staging fake hard launch photos in your bed. The blurry, cozy results? Surprisingly convincing.

"Oh, this is gonna blow up at work."

Tara rested her chin on your neck, wrapping an arm around you for the final shot. The picture was better than you imagined, so naturally, you posted it to your story before the two of you rushed to get ready for work.

And just like that, your social media went up in flames.

Rafayel:

623 missed calls. 200 texts. 82 more missed calls.

All hours after your post.

Who is he? Why are you in bed with him? Is he your boyfriend? What is his name?

You barely have time to breathe after your meeting before the onslaught of texts floods in. Even the comment section of your post hasn’t been spared.

Thomas is already on the case. Rafayel is whining, sobbing, crying and absolutely not afraid to play dirty to get you back.

He's already planned a hundred ways to nip this budding romance at the root.

He thinks he has the upper hand, feels kinda smug about it too.

Still… there’s a twinge of heartbreak. A little ache for having to wait longer for you, for the idea that you might have chosen someone else. But if nothing else, Rafayel is persistent.

So, of course, he’s already forgiven you.

But don’t think, even for a second, that he won’t complain about it.

He’s still mulling over it, dramatically painting all his canvases black, getting ready for his villain arc, when you finally call him back.

"A prank?"

He is indignant.

He cried over a prank.

All that effort… for nothing.

"IT’S BEEN 800 YEARS. JELLYFISH ARE WALKING. NAKED SEA TURTLES ARE CLIMBING TREES. SHARKS ARE EATING GRASS—FOR FREE. "

AND RAFAYEL?

RAFAYEL CRIED OVER A PRANK.

HE WENT FULL VILLAIN ARC FOR A LIE.

HIS CANVASES ARE BLACK. HIS PLANS FOR REVENGE? RUINED.

ALL BECAUSE YOU AND TARA WANTED TO PLAY GAMES.

He might never recover. Might. But first, he needs to call Thomas back before his "investigation" starts a national crisis.

Xavier:

He had just returned from a long night of fighting Wanderers when his phone chimed with an alert.

Half-asleep, he smiled at the sight of your name, already thinking of how he'd respond once he changed and collapsed into bed.

That smile froze the moment he saw the picture.

The phone slipped from his fingers, landing on his face. But he didn’t even wince. Too numb to feel it.

His vision blurred. His chest ached. Tears welled, unbidden.

Genuinely heartbroken. So weary. So tired. For a moment, he was shattered.

Did he have the strength to wager another lifetime?

His time was already running out. His strength faded with each passing day. He had selfishly wanted this spring with you...but this was better for you. You were too kind, too caring to bear his loss.

Perhaps this was for the best. His lips trembled at the thought.

You had someone now, someone who would not bring you grief. And you looked so happy in that photo. He stared at the blurred curve of your smile, tracing it with his gaze.

Somehow, he managed a small smile too.

And then he folded into himself. And slept.

For days.

So long that you started to worry, noticing his absence at work.

Until, finally, you barge into his apartment, breathless and frantic, only to find him asleep, moonlight spilling across his face, eerily still.

Your heart plummeted.

"Xavier." Your voice trembled as you rushed to him, fingers shaking as you took his hand.

For a terrible, suffocating second, he didn’t move.

And then, his brow twitched.

Air rushed back into your lungs.

Zayne:

This was to be expected.

He was never what you needed.

He often failed at words. His gestures, too vague to be understood.

You deserved someone who loved you. Someone who had the courage to say those words out loud.

Not him.

Not someone who could hurt you. His scars only grow deeper with time.

So he accepts it. Buries himself in work.

If he could not be your lover, then he would play his part as a friend.

Pays extra attention to your health. Pours over your reports. He must. Because he is no longer close enough to watch over you himself.

And weeks later, when you finally visit him, he keeps up the act—cold, distant, unbothered.

He does all the tests. Runs all the checks. Everything is routine.

But you see it.

The dark circles, deeper than ever. His skin, paler. Cheeks, sunken. His shirt, unwashed.

"You're coming home with me."

Your voice leaves no room for argument as you take his hand. "You never call. You only text about my reports and nothing more. We need to talk."

You tug him forward. He follows, until he stops.

"Your boyfriend won’t like it," he murmurs, staring anywhere but at you.

Silence.

"What boyfriend?"

You blink at him, dumbfounded.

Sylus:

Sylus spits his coffee, choking as he stares at the pictures.

Does not buy it.

That’s clearly not a man.

Yet somehow, he keeps going back to it, again and again.

It’s only when Luke and Kieran peer over his shoulder that his denial starts cracking.

"Ooooh, boss has got competition," Luke chimes.

One minute, they’re laughing. The next, they’re outside the mansion, the door slamming shut behind them.

Luke blinks. "That explains..."

Kieran yanks him into a chokehold for getting them banished for the day.

Inside, Sylus switches to wine.

The day has been too much.

Not a man, right? he muses, scrutinizing the photo, before accidentally pressing the heart button.

And then, he all but chews the glass in his hand.

He’s not worried.

He just suddenly feels the urge to burn his entire closet because nothing looks good enough.

He doesn’t care.

He’s just made a few calls, just to make sure you’re not involved with anyone sketchy. Unless, of course, it’s him.

Then, like an absolute idiot, he gets a panicked call from an associate.

The only person who’s been in your apartment? Tara.

Sylus stares at the image. Facepalms.

That evening, when he picks you up from work, he looks exhausted.

As if a few hours have aged him years.

When you ask, he waves you off, dodging every question.

You raise a brow. "Are you sure? You look—"

"I said it’s nothing," he snaps, before sighing, dragging a hand down his face. "...Can we just go home

Caleb:

Storming to Linkon.

Geared up to blow up the entire apartment complex.

Spends five minutes struggling with the locked door before finally getting it open.

Marches in.

Stops. Sighs in disapproval at your empty fridge.

Good thing he packed snacks. Leaves them on your counter. You’ll thank him later.

Then, back to the mission.

Collects all forensic evidence needed. Marches out.

No time to waste.

Supervises the DNA administration.

Hair sample. Used coffee mug. Both next to yours.

He will find the bastard. He will take him out.

And then, he will whisk you away to Skyheaven, to console you once you learn of your tragic, mysterious loss.

Grief will bring you closer.

Every intern running tests is sweating.

So are the lead scientists, who have been personally forced to oversee this insanity.

No one is messing with the colonel today.

And then, finally, the results land on his desk.

Caleb stares. Dumbfounded.

Is he to fight both men and women for you now?

You better watch out for Tara because he does not discriminate.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace headcannon #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #caleb x reader #fluff #angst #love and deepspace reaction #jealousy au #everyone is unhinged

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acid-ixx · 4 months ago

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tell your baby, that i'm your baby. (a loving family, an unpalatable desire drabble)

ft. yandere damian wayne x gn! neglected spouse reader x yandere superfam

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

this is written in regards to one of my drabbles, i can't help but sigh at just how good the angst is for damian in this series.

because in loving family, unpalatable desire, you pretty much exclusively nickname him "dami, baby," from day one right after meeting him. you say it not in a way that you wish to overstep your boundaries at simply being his stepparent - you're aware, despite the ache in your chest admitting it, that you'll never come quite close to talia's standing in his heart, it's simply impossible with how she raised him her entire life before being dropped off in bruce's care - but because you find the boy adorable if you look past his intent at trying to murder you at every passing glance.

or maybe it's just you trying to cope with the pain of your situation, that you consider them all your beloved children, yet never being once called their parent throughout your entire marriage that breaks apart the illusion of a happy home life, that this wasn't the marriage you wanted at all; that you'll never bear a time in your life stuck in the manor seeing their genuine smiles directed at you even if you attempt to approach as patiently as possible in hopes your presence might be accepted— even if it results in awkward laughs at your cringy jokes at the dinner table, or one of damian's weapons nearly plunging the side of your head.

maybe, it's such a struggle to keep the flicker of light alive in your body whenever all your hardships fail, and all throughout you find your husband with lipstick stains all over his white collar every time he comes home that your mind forces itself to believe that with enough trial and error, maybe one of them could eventually tolerate, rather than pity you.

unfortunately, you chose damian, the one who you're convinced arguably despises you the most, of all people living or visiting the manor to run the test.

so in all the instances you chirp out his nickname, so fondly, so eminently heard across the walls of the manor, even in the spacious expanse of the gardens could your voice be heard from miles away, all because you wish to bond with him, praising his artworks with your grating voice, to give him intricate gifts you know will be discarded in the trash in front of you; you'll be met with a stubborn glare and mean comments about how he'll never consider you his parent, to relinquish your delusions at thinking he'll even let you past his walls, and how he'll never follow through the orders of a scum like you.

which is what you're forced to deal with every single day, coupled with harsh reminders of their happiness without the need for your presence beside them.

sometimes, his reactions could be his typical harsh comments, you've grown accustomed enough to differentiate what is harmless and what borders on violence; it's enough to know when to stop bothering him despite your best efforts. other times, it would be as intense as running a sword through the strands of your hair until he chops it at the end with a threat to cut off your tongue right after if you dare call him that putrid nickname again that cuts deeper than any wound.

with every trial of becoming closer to him, results in an even widening crack in your relationship with the young boy. and eventually, with enough sighs under your breath and harsh glares from him, you'll come into terms that you'll never form a cordial bond with the young boy. it's just impossible with how he views you, sheltered and undeserving because of your family's reputation of being money laundering scum.

at that period of time, you instead chose to strengthen your relationship with the reporter who saved you one day from the paparazzi's cruel interviews, the cute man from the daily planet whose name is clark kent with an even more adorable son, jon, who welcomed you with open arms and a tight hug on your stomach, muttering about how he's so excited to meet his new parent, just when you first stepped on the doors of your affair partner's home; that was enough to relinquish any anguish you felt at the manor replaced with absolute joy at what seems to be the first time you're considered the parent, part of a family, in a completely different household.

it helps erase the shadow of doubt that you may be cursed to never be accepted into an established family with just how bright, how comparable jon was to an overexcitable golden retriever, bonding with you since day one unlike all the other insufferable moments crammed into a jam-packed dinner table— only for your voice to be discarded and overpowered by others.

you start to call him your baby instead, completely in awe at the cute freckles littering his sun-kissed skin and the country boy accent he adopted from his dad. you couldn't help but hold his cheeks in your palms and kiss all over his face whilst you kneel to his level, laughing along with the giggles erupting from his throat that creates this harmonious melody in clark's ears, who watches you scoop the boy into your arms just to swing him back and forth in cuteness aggression, just how it always should've been with you.

clark pictures the moment together, capturing jon's smooshed face shadowed by your hair whilst you look at his, no, your son with inexplicable joy, eyes crinkled and shining brightly under the halo of the sunset.

and clark doesn't even have to see just much jon loves and cherishes you at first glance.

he wouldn't even dare compare you to his late mother, never once calling you a replacement or a homewrecker, placing you upon a pedestal you deserve to be instead; because let's face it, you simply live in the manor, but your true home is where clark and jon, and ma and pa kent are at. pictures of your little family are framed in your shared bedroom for you to graze your finger upon whenever you wish to reminisce the blessings bestowed upon meeting your affair partner at just by chance.

but you shouldn't have forgotten about damian that quickly, not when jon all-too suddenly shoves that photo of you in his wallet in front of his face, it made damian's mind go off in a tangent, in both curiosity and frustated yet unstated interrogations at your sudden disappearance (your grating voice don't call out to him anymore, and suddenly, the manor is quieter; he despises that feeling of emptiness more than he does of your nickname for him) then reappearance as jon's, funny, hah—!

jon's parent.

and in moments of careful investigation does he realize—

when you're with jon, his best friend, when he spies in on you at the little farm you now live in, currently alone with someone whom you call your true son, that he comes to realize just how much that nickname means so much to him, as your voice, with that soft tone, scold his friend with that familiar warmth you always used to direct at him with the softest of gaze, an angel unlike the sea of rich bastards he meets at the galas who only communicate with him to form connections, advantages by being associated with a family of the wayne's.

it's only when you're stripped away from him that he realizes how much he relishes your sweet occupancy into his heart, how there's always been an unbidden, forbidden chamber in his heart that beats for the love you offer him that was unlike the harsh environment he was born in.

he's never been adorned with such a delicate title that portrays him the opposite of what he's raised to be; damian has always been the blood son, son of the bat and heir to the demon king's throne, but never something as fond, as unforeseen as someone's baby.

it just thwarts the spark of hope in his heart and extends the lump in his throat at the scene that plays before him, the loving nickname you oh-so carefully address him now relinquished and graced to another boy, his friend no less— who you considered yours, who he's aware is way more deserving of being called your baby rather than him, who had always denied you from the very start.

"jon, baby, you help me clean the windows tomorrow, alright, young man? it's stained with all your fingerprints!" you scold him as assertively as you can, kneeling down to his level and pinching his cheeks all while grinning at the boy. jon retorts with a tongue out his lips and a scrunch of his nose. it garners a laugh from you, one damian swore he's never heard sounded so desirable until now.

why are you calling jon your baby?

"not my fault, mom/dad! i get so excited to see you come home every time you have to return there!" damian seethes at the scene of jon's pouting and puppy-eyes looking up at you, that should've been him.

"can't you just stay here? forever?"

damian despises how he engraves the melody of your laughter in reply to jon's words, right into his eardrums, but omits the disgustingly sweet chirp in your voice calling jon, not him, your baby. his mind nips away at the memories at all the moments you addressed him too, and how he always rejected and corrected you to call him by his name like a proper person rather than a maniac pushing themself into his life.

he doesn't want to ever hear you address him, if it means it's not by his nickname that you now call jon.

damian couldn't even deny how the huge grin that stretches across your face at the sight of his best friend scalds him with bitterness, he wasn't even aware you're capable of such enjoyment, not when back at the manor your hesitant with even displaying a tinge of happiness— as if you're capable of doing so, not when he knows he's one of the main contributors for being the reason of your current affair.

and yet he wishes he could lie and say he didn't miss it, miss your expectant stare at him, the contrast of talia's comfort compared to yours, when the hugs you offer him, the gifts carefully curated to his preferences, the palpable love that never once wavered for your family that you could never call yours, they all seem like a distant dream now that you're away from them; from him.

it hurts watching you two communicate even further, for once it's him in the background watching like an outsider instead of you. for once, he understands what isolation feels like, what foreboding desires fester deep into his scarred soul that could only be cured with one of the softest cuddly hugs, the sweetest, flutter of your lashes as you stare oh-so fondly at jon like he meant the world to you, like it was only the two of you in the world embracing the light filtering through the windows, side by side, inseparable.

if there was one wish he could conjure, a desire he was trained to forfeit himself to feel that creeps its way into the depths of his guarded heart— it's that once you put jon into bed - even if it takes hours, even his heart feels like it's being squeezed out of blood watching your nightly, affectionate routine with jon; reading him bedtime stories, eating together, laughing lightly at the dinner table while you feed him your share of the plate, moments he never thought he felt compelled to spend with you - once he strikes at the perfect opportunity to talk to you, to confront your blunder of choosing them over him, of his woes towards your relationship—

he wishes, with unceasing faith, that you still love him enough to call him your baby once more.

a/n: let this blow up and i might just actually fix my schedule to give more updates. anyways, more damian wayne and jon kent content! one of my fave runs is with supersons and i love fluff paired with angst too so this is a win-win. pls leave in some comments about this series, since ngl i didn't give it as much love as i did for a&a 😭 so yes! mitski inspired chapter with more conflicting feelings. i'm still working around writer's block but everyone's undying support helps motivate me a lot!!!

taglist:

@starrydollita, @vellichorandhiraeth, @chericia, @queenofspades403, @naina326, @neerathebrightstar, @lilyalone, @sweetconnoisseurgardener, @nickey-diano, @tsuniio, @ssak-i, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lollipoppersposts, @peptox, @kdjhubby, @weirdcore-fantasy.

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ultimateplaylistmaker · 11 months ago

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Me at Makoto as he rebuilds Hope's Peak

Oh I’m a sucker for content about Makoto perpetuating the cycle that caused the apocalypse in the first place because it’s whats been expected of him and taught to him, like at the end of dr3 anime how he becomes the principal of the same establishment that did HORRIFIC human experimentation and perpetuated a system that crushed anyone deemed ordinary under its weight. The school ends up taking no blame for its very real and intensely horrific acts because they simply blame despair for it, so of course now that the Ultimate Hope is running it that means all the despair is gone and now Hope will happily shine again. Neatly sweeping under the rug the covered up murders and torture done in the name of that hope before. It wasn’t the system, it was a few wildcards, trust the system Makoto, it’s all you’ve been told works isn’t it? Society has to have Hope’s Peak Makoto, the two are one in the same isn’t it?

In the end his title of Hope and the expectations forces him into the same blindfold of “for hope” that allowed Izuru to exist. All he knows and really is allowed to know thanks to future foundation is that he is Hope and has to make more Hope and that as such Hope’s Peak must exist as a symbol of that Hope. Which is why when I write post danganronpa 3 content and acknowledge the canon of “he principal now” I have characters who actively oppose and fight against the re-installment of such a system because it’s just such a bad idea but the propaganda and hope worship is so intense Makoto doesn’t even consider how it might not be a good idea.

Hope and Despair are just so entwined you cannot be an ultimate hope without understanding and being able to use ultimate despair. The two concepts are so twisted together that Junko can cause massive hope if she chooses (ie warriors of hope) and Makoto can create great despair (accidentally letting a second killing game happen thanks to his illegal terrorist rehabilitation program) not to mention hope to one is despair to another, and there really is no way of predicting which way the pendulum will point to until after the act of potential hope OR despair is taken. Ultimate Hope? Ultimate Despair? The talents are one in the same at the end of the day. Anyone deemed to be an Ultimate Hope is one thought of “greater good” away from the next Tragedy. Makoto is no different, and the system will inevitably push his morals to that point if no one intervenes.

#hes a guy whose been fed propaganda his entire life that the talent system is an inherent thing and the best possible thing #and that the tragedy was the result of a few bad apples #and as such as he has not been harmed by the system and is in fact been used as a furtherance of that system by future foundation already #he has no real base to question or fully dismiss this system as for him the system appeared to have worked but just been co-opted by evil #he is wrong but he is not wrong of malice but simply of being a privileged kid rebuilding the system that uplifted him into privilege #as he believes that system can uplift everyone and that a failing of that is the result of sabotage and not an inherent design feature #but it will not uplift people makoto has simply mistaken a ceaseless hunger that rips people apart for a ceaseless if impeded effort to hel #it may not immediately rip into people as it had been before but eventually people will die clawing at its heels as it forces them down #danganronpa 3 #musings from the music manager

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holeforzenin · 7 months ago

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BESTFRIEND SATORU HELPING YOU COPE WITH YOUR BREAKUP!!

Tw - Degradation n praising, Satoru likes you. Not proofread. I hate this sm and it was rushed but oh well

ଘ ੭ ✩‧₊˚

You made your best effort to compose yourself, attempting to suppress the sobs that threatened to overwhelm you as you gently rapped on the sturdy wooden door looming in front of you. Hastily trying to put yourself together before you were met with Satoru’s familiar, handsome face.

His eyes gleamed with excitement as soon as he caught sight of you, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"What are you doing here so late babe, Shouldn't you be uhhh—having boring phone sex with your little boyfriend?" he quipped—his playful chuckle hinting with pride and maybe even jealousy laced with it.

His expression quickly changed to concernment when he saw the tears escaping your eye line. Instantly, his face softened and he moved closer, gently gripping your shoulders to get you to look at him.

"Woah, are you okay, sweetheart? Did something happen?", he asked worriedly as warm tears streamed down your face, he gently moved one of his hands to the back of your head, guiding your face into his chest for a tight embrace.

"What happened? C'mon, talk to me" he softly mumbled, feeling your sobs resonating against his chest, you sniffled and finally broke down, "No Satoru, He cheated! he fucking cheated on me—I don’t know what to do”. You gripped onto his shirt tightly as you held onto him.

His mouth gaped in shock and anger as he hugged you impossibly closer, The scent of his minty cologne enveloped you, clouding your thoughts and senses as you continued to cry in his arms.

“What??? I'm so sorry sweetheart, knew that fucking prick didn't deserve you—I'm so fucking sorry. What can I do to make you feel better?"

___

“Ahh, shit gonna lose my fucking mind in this tight pussy.” he lets out a throaty groan that resonated in the air.

Pure sweat glistened from his body, his biceps, his chest, his back—all fucking sticky and damp almost as if he was working out— well it coulddd count as a workout, technically.

“No fucking way, that dumb fucker cheated on this”, he gasped, anger coursing through him as his hand instinctively gripped onto the headboard for stability while he loses himself to the warmth of your soppy pussy compressing the life out of his cock, each squeeze pulling him deeper into your core.

His white bangs stuck to his forehead as the ends tickled his face with dampness. You mewled loudly as your face distorted with unanticipated pleasure—Pleasure that you'd never thought you could ever felt before, until this day.

He had you folded in a fucked-up mating press—insisting that the closer he is to you, the better he'd be able to comfort you.

“Fuckk! Toruu~” you moaned pornographically, your toes involuntarily curling against his toned back as your knees knocked against your bouncing tits.

His beaming blue eyes piercing through you feverishly as he stared down at you—his face just mere inches away from yours. "Fuck yeahh, moan my fucking name just like that sweetheart, that's right. I'm the one pounding this perfect little pussy” he purrs softly, smirking as drool escapes your lips.

Of course, he was unhappy and worried to see his poor best friend miserable because of the breakup. But deep down, a part of him felt…relieved?

It's not like that dumb, immature scrawny bitch could ever give you what he has to offer.

Never, Never never never. You deserved better, way better. Someone like him…

“Mmm Fuckkk, Satoruuu. stretching me s’good” you cried out in pure ecstasy as the tip of his cock rubs against your g-spot so rawly and naturally in a way that felt heavenly —your boyfriend was never able to find it.

“Yeah? You like me splitting open this pretty pussy with my cock? When was the last time you had a good fucking like this, babe?” Satoru laughed breathlessly, his cock throbbing with each thrusts.

The bed sinking as a result from his weight as he bullied his hefty cock into you—fucking you absolutely dumb, deeper into his mattress.

Your glassy eyes were now obscured by a hazy blur, the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins as your eyes rolled back—Satoru thought the sight of you like this was so so beautiful. Seeing his precious little best friend whom he loveee so much getting dumbed down from his dick etched something primal in him.

His mouth gaped slightly as he moaned, his eyes full of desire and passion. He brought his face closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin before he smashed his lips onto yours.

His mouth completely devouring you as the both of you moaned in unison, lost in the intensity of the kiss—your tongues tangling together as your tummy fluttered in excitement.

His skin stuck to yours disgustingly as your boobs bounced against his chest, your fingers laced through his hair. The sensation made him groan before he eventually pulled away from the passionate kiss.

He quickly switched positions, hauling your body closer to him so your ass could slowly be arched up—resting against his thighs as he pounded your sloppy, messy cunt at the deeper angle.

A rhythmic series of “Hahhh!” fills the room—almost like a chant of pleasure escaping his lips as his gaze is fixated on where the two of you were connected—his cock completely disappearing inside your warm core at the snap of his hips as his snowy pubic hair lightly nudges against the sensitive bud of your arousal.

“This pussy is taking me in so well, fuck he could never—dunno why you were even with him–nghh! in the first place” he emphasizes on the last word with a deep, hard powerful thrust.

“I could treat ya so much better than he ever did sweetheart, better forget about him—don't ever wanna see you crying that fucker again” he smirks down at fucked out face—so cute and pretty all clumsy from his cock.

Thick balls slapping against your asshole as your slick coats both of them, forming a slippery layer that gradually dripped down onto his sheets.

“Or don't worry, heh—i’ll just fuck you into a brainless little slut, that'll surely make you forget about him” he laughs out. His tongue dragging against his lips as his fingers kneads into the soft flesh of your thighs.

Your eyes rolled back uncontrollably to his words, it was obvious to you that Satoru had a little crush on you for a while now and fucking hated your boyfriend but hearing him actually vocalizing his feelings in such a vulnerable, intimate moment made you lose your mind.

His lengthy cock dug into your pussy in such a mean manner in the new angle—his relentless thrusts hitting your cervix over and over, making your pussy overflowing with juices all over his dick, facilitating to force his dick into you.

You squealed, feeling his finger suddenly rubbing fast circles on your clit—causing your inner walls to flutter around his shaft in a euphoric response to the new wave of pleasure that surged through your body.

“Mmmfp! Yesyesyes! don't stop, s’close” you exclaimed, your fingers tightly clasping onto the sheets to anchor yourself.

“Yeah? Gonna cum on my dick baby?” He inquires with a toothy grin, his bicep muscles prominently bulging, emphasizing his toned physique as his abs flexes because of the angle. Giving you the most delicious view of his body.

“Yes! Ahh, Toruuu” Your eyebrows furrowed together as you felt your orgasm approaching. Your body trembled in ecstasy. The feeling of good sex was so so refreshing to you that you started questioning yourself why you weren’t with Satoru instead in the first place?. He was charming, rich, and funny—despite his annoying personality and teasing, he was almost perfect, but maybe because you two have been best friends for all those years, you just haven’t thought about him like that.

Before you knew it, milky white rings coated his cock—overlaying every inch of his shaft and painting his balls. “Mmmmm!” You breathe heavily, almost losing your mind as you watched Satoru’s eyes roll back at the feeling of you messing up his dick.

“Yessss, that’s it baby—God, fuck, making such a pretty mess all over me” he tried to keep his composure but he miserably failed, he just fucking couldn't, hell he couldn’t even pull out quick enough before spurting his hot cum directly into your womb, making loud squelching noises filling the room as his warm, sticky cum overflowed out of your pussy.

It was so so messy, there’s no way there wasn’t a big wet patch of cum below the two of you.

“So do ya prefer our date being tomorrow or the day after—I’d prefer tomorrow because I’m not working, plus I wanna take you out as soon as possible,” he said in a cheery, out-of-breath tone, managing to catch you off guard as if he wasn’t still balls deep inside of you.

“Seriously Satoru? We can discuss this later” you muttered with a hint of annoyance—causing him to pout in response before picking up your upper body to sit on his lap—cockwarming him.

He pulled you into a sweet, passionate kiss—his hands groping your ass as you tangled your fingers through his hair.

“Fineee” he playfully whispered—you giggled lowly, feeling his smile forming against your lips as he held you close.

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thesewordsareallihavetogive · 13 days ago

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Flesh Wound - Dr. Jack Abbot x chef!reader

Summary: 2.5k words. Dr. Abbot's wife's cancels date night after suffering a kitchen mishap. In an effort to avoid adding to his stress, she takes herself--and her bloody hand--to the Pitt without telling him.

Warnings: canon-typical gore, blood, graphic descriptions of wounds, & knives. Colorful language, per usual. Implied age gap. breaking select grammar rules because I can. not beta read.

a/n: This got away from me and is longer than necessary lmao. I’m not in love with it, but I need to get it out of my brain and drafts so it stops plaguing me. Enjoy my first Pitt fic! Divider credit!

“Fuck!” you hissed. The kitchen came to a standstill around you; your cooks, dishwashers, and wait staff suddenly focused on the angry gash on your hand.

Abby’s was your pride and joy. Back in the day, culinary school felt like a gamble and then some. Today, you thank your lucky stars that it panned out well. The restaurant you’d built from the ground up was often featured in local publications and had grown into a neighborhood hub—it was a success from the day you first opened the doors to the public.

On days you didn’t stay at work for the full evening rush—like tonight, when you had your silver fox of a husband waiting at home with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and the full Netflix catalogue at your fingertips—you at least made sure to come in for a couple hours in the afternoon to help set up and ensure your staff had all the support they needed for a successful night.

Amid prep work for a new dish you were piloting, you looked away at just the wrong moment when your name was called, resulting in the unmistakable piercing feeling shooting through your hand. You’d nicked yourself. Well, more than nicked yourself, because you were now bleeding at a rate that would have Javadi passed out cold on the floor.

This certainly wasn’t your first knife injury and probably wouldn’t be your last. You haphazardly cleaned up your station as best you could while holding pressure to the wound with a towel. Accidents happen to everyone, no matter how long they’ve been in the industry. That didn’t mean it wasn’t embarrassing to slice your palm open in front of the staff who were supposed to look up to you.

You bit your lip and willed the tears to stay at bay after closing your office door. You tried taking deep breaths as you sat on the edge of your desk. In for 4, out for 8. In for 5, out for 10.

It didn’t help much.

This hurts like a bitch, you cursed through the unrelenting stinging. It was worse than any other kitchen injuries you’d had in recent memory. You remembered your husband rambling about how the hands were one of the most highly vascularized parts of the body. When it bleeds, it bleeds, he said to you. You were acutely aware of that now.

The bleeding wasn’t showing signs of stopping anytime soon, even after you’d soaked through two hand towels. Jack had taught you quite a bit of first aid and then some over the years, but even you recognized that you couldn’t patch yourself up. When a little fuzzy feeling began to sink in, you knew it was time to seek medical attention from a professional who wouldn’t spiral at the mere notion of you being harmed.

Sure, you could’ve called your trauma doctor husband, who seldom went anywhere without his ‘go bag’, but that would make too much sense. You didn’t want Jack to worry about you. He did anyway, but you didn’t want to add to his stress. The salt and pepper hair suited him well–you frequently reminded him when you carded your fingers through his curls–but if he went full-on gray, you might be accused of grave robbing.

“Doctor Abbot speaking,” the man grunted in greeting. The trauma doc hadn’t looked at the caller ID before answering. Or maybe his mind was still filled with the post-night shift sleep haze.

“Hey, honey,” you smiled through the phone despite your barely contained anxiety. The fresh towel you left the restaurant with was quickly turning crimson. The walk to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was 15 minutes, and you prayed that you’d make it there before the towel was soaked through or before you passed out—whichever would come first.

Your voice washed over Jack like warm honey. His shoulders relaxed and he sighed deeply. Per usual, he hadn’t realized how tense he was until you dissolved his stress.

“Hello, my beautiful wife,” he flirted through the phone, the corners of his lips ticking up into a smile. Several years into your relationship, he could still make you blush.

“I know we planned to stay in tonight and watch a movie, but I’m gonna have to stay at the restaurant late. We got slammed, and I need to make sure the team has everything they need.” That counted as a white lie, right? Jack and his wife didn’t keep secrets. But this time, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, you rationalized. You would tell him once you were all stitched up, snuggling at home with him, and not pale as a ghost. You would tell him when you could laugh about it, at how silly the oopsie you made in the kitchen was. Right now you were not laughing.

Abbot nodded, though you couldn’t see it. Your dedication to making sure your staff were taken care of was admirable; you were always so attentive, caring, and considerate. But selfishly, Jack would’ve given his other leg to spend a night with his wife.

It wasn’t like you both weren’t used to taking rainchecks. Sometimes chefs called out sick and you had to step up, or put out metaphorical and literal fires. Other times, Jack’s pager seemed to be determined to set a record for most received messages.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. We can do something tomorrow.” It was a promise they’d hold each other to.

Years in service to the military and working in healthcare–emergency medicine, no less–meant he was used to change and could be flexible, to say the least. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be miserable to everyone around him until he saw his wife again.

Keeping a low profile at the Pitt was damn near impossible given your reputation.

The ER staff were well acquainted with Dr. Abbot’s wife, the pretty lady who brought them food. It started when you brought Jack dinner, and then Dana too. Sometimes Robby if you caught him at the right time. Eventually, you’d occasionally drop off catering-sized orders from Abby’s to be shared amongst the Pitt staff, just because.

A concerning majority of the providers, nurses, techs, RTs, and radiology staff survived 13-hour shifts on protein bars and far more milligrams of caffeine than was considered safe for human consumption. (It was a good thing they had plenty of 12 leads and crash carts full of pharm goodies for when a staff member inevitably developed a caffeine-induced dysrhythmia.) When the smell of Dr. Abbot’s wife’s food filled the Pitt, they knew they were in for a treat.

“You got any food for us, Mrs. Abbot?” Lupe asked as you approached the thick registration desk glass, before her eyes fell to your hand cradled against your chest. Definitely not catering.

Unfortunately for you, the third towel was fully saturated by the time you made it through the lobby’s double doors. The fuzzy feeling from earlier was quickly advancing to woozy.

Lupe and Dana brought you straight back from triage, effectively bumping you to the top of the queue. Maybe it wasn’t entirely according to hospital policy, but they’d never hear the end of it from Abbot if he found out his wife was stuck in a waiting room while she bled out.

“Everything is still attached, but the cut’s deep,” you relayed to Dana, who hummed as she peeled back the towel to assess the damage.

“Your husband know you’re here?” Dana asked, raising an eyebrow at you expectantly. She knew the answer based on the fact that Abbot hadn’t tore through the damn building to get to you. Yet, anyway. She more so asked to give you a chance to reflect on your dumb decision to not inform your husband.

“I don’t want to stress him out. Please don’t tell him?” You pleaded.

“I won’t say anything, but I can’t control what happens when he sees his last name on the wrong part of the status board.” Her emphasis on when made it clear that it was only a matter of time, not if.

Of course he would pick up a shift once his evening freed up. He was a workaholic, but so were you. Birds of a feather.

When Doctor Robinavitch and Javadi pulled back the room’s curtain, Dana did the talking–nausea was setting in along with a wicked headache. You refused to look at the laceration at this point, eyes trained on the ceiling tiles above you.

“BP is soft,” Robby observed. Dana nodded while holding pressure to the wound with gauze. “Let’s start some IV fluids to get it back up; you definitely had some blood loss today.” Not helping, you thought as another wave of nausea rolled through you.

“She said she doesn’t want Dr. Abbot to know, and I’m not about to get in the middle of that. Plus, provider-patient confidentiality,” Robby finished with a shrug to Dana at the nurse’s station.

“Who doesn’t want me to know what?” Abbot asked, cosmic timing seemingly on his side. He was here far earlier than he needed to be for his shift, but he had nothing better to do Better than sulking at home, missing his wife. He’d still miss her while he was working, but at least he’d have an active distraction. His grip was firm on the strap of his camo backpack slung over his shoulder.

Robby groaned and his eyes scrunched shut as he slowly turned to face the night shift attending. Dana answered the nurse’s station phone within a nanosecond of the first shrill ring, leaving Robby to fend for himself.

Abbot looked at him expectantly, his patience quickly waning. Robby shook his head and vaguely nodded his head backwards, simply sighing “room 4” before getting back to work. Jack didn’t press for more info, just crossed the Pitt with long, purposeful strides. His heart dropped and the world around him slowed when he saw his wife laying back on a gurney, hooked up to IV fluids with gauze around her hand.

He didn’t bother to knock before entering, yanking the curtain open with an abrasive tug. He immediately started scanning you head to toe and noted the color drained from your face, a bloody rag in the biohazard bin, and the remnants of a suture kit in the waste bin.

“Baby, what the hell happened?” Jack asked, wild eyes bouncing between the vitals monitor to your tired form. You squeezed her eyes shut and cursed the fact that PTMC was the closest ER to Abby’s.

“I told Robby not to call you,” you grumbled. Your husband grunted.

“He didn’t call me. I picked up a shift.” You knew Jack wasn’t upset with you directly. Seeing you in the same department where patients regularly coded and trauma alerts rolled through at light speed to the trauma bay unnerved him.

You felt a twang of guilt in your chest. Jack wouldn’t have come in on his first night off in a while if you hadn’t canceled date night. And date night wouldn’t have been canceled if you’d just been paying more attention in the kitchen. You extended your unaffected hand to your husband and he grasped it in an instant.

His tense shoulders and tight jaw gave him away. You hated to see him needlessly stressed, but it also warmed you in an odd way—how lucky you are to have someone care for you so deeply. Someone as weathered and worn as Jack, who has seen his fair share of trauma and then some, loves you to the point of worry. What a privilege that is.

Jack’s shift technically didn’t start for another 20 minutes. He had every intention of spending those minutes right by your side.

Saved by the bell a few minutes before shift change, Robby came back in for rounds, tailed by Javadi (who, to her credit, did not pass out at the sight of copious blood flowing from your hand earlier). “Hey, love birds,” Robby greeted with a grin. Abbot’s lips stayed pressed in a thin line while you smiled weakly back at the attending and the med student who followed him around like a little duckling.

Dr. Robinavitch gestured for Javadi to present the case to Dr. Abbot. The poor girl looked like a deer caught in headlights at the harsh stare Abbot pinned her with. Her gaze bounced from your joined hands back to the attending before she cleared her throat and began. Javadi described the depth of the laceration and the amount of stitches required, topical TXA, IV fluid bolus and subsequent drip for hypotension. Jack forced air from his nose before inhaling again, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Princess will be in shortly with your discharge paperwork and home care instructions,” Robby winked as he left you and Abbot by yourselves. Jack snorted. There was no way in hell you’d be caring for the wound yourself, not if he could help it.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Jack’s voice was quiet. He wasn’t mad, but rattled. You twisted your mouth to the side, feeling a bit of shame. This wasn’t how you imagined your evening going.

“Technically, I did… on my walk here…” you offered. It sounded weak even to your ears. Jack deadpanned. It didn’t land well. You sighed and rolled to face your husband fully. “I didn’t want you to worry about me,” you whispered, hoping your voice wouldn’t betray you. Jack pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’m always going to worry about you, sweetheart. Because I love you.” His fingers traced your jawline. Jack, who woke up with night terrors well over a decade after the war-torn atrocities he’d seen, gazed at you tenderly. You had half a mind to make a ‘Tis but a scratch joke, but figured that might send him over the edge.

“I love you too.” It wasn’t a reply, it was a promise. Jack kissed the back of your hand, your fingers intertwined until he had to go.

Dr. Robinavitch hung around until he was satisfied with your blood pressure so he could drive you home. Even if you had politely declined, he would’ve stayed. Abbot certainly wouldn’t have let him hear the end of it if his wife had to take a taxi home from the ER. Robby guided you toward the exit, holding your bag and his. Gotta keep our patient satisfaction scores up.

Jack doffed his gloves while he jogged to meet you before you reached the door. He blindly tossed the blue nitrile gloves in the direction of the nearest waste bin, not bothering to check if he made it in. But they had, because of course they would. Cocky motherfucker.

Jack wordlessly pulled you to him, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand holding your head to his chest as he kissed the top of your head.

“Take it easy, okay?” The two of you could’ve been slow dancing in a burning room, but Jack wouldn’t have noticed. He tuned out the constant buzz of the Pitt and focused solely on you. You offered your free hand up for a pinkie promise.

If the med students and interns saw Dr. Abbot go soft—oh so whipped for his wife—and make a pinkie promise, they knew better than to say anything about it.

a/n: Reblogs & comments are much appreciated 🥰

Find more of my writing on my master list.

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#The Pitt #Jack Abbot x Reader #dr. abbot x reader #Jack Abbot #Dr. Abbot

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ovaryacted · 1 month ago

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SPECIAL TREATMENT

─ Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem! reader || WC: 1.2k

CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Michael is canon age, reader is 25+]. Power imbalance situation [Attending/Resident]. FWB dynamic, sort of. Past mentions of smut in different instances. Oral (m & f receiving. Unprotected p in v. Heavy praise kink. Everything is consensual & mutual. They’re freaky idk. A tinge of yearning. Reader has hair & is a beast at medicine. Note: I have not watched The Pitt yet, so I apologize for any mischaracterizations lolz.

Hi. I honestly don't know what this is. It came to me in a dream after I yapped with @superhoeva in the DMS, and now she's tormenting me to keep writing for Mista Dr. Robby. Now I'm sucked into this world that I didn't even know existed lmao. Anywho, walk with me for a second here, let me cook! Reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. Proofread by moi. <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

It all started with two simple words.

“Good job.”

Seven letters. One singular statement. A term of encouragement familiar to practitioners all over the Pitt, and of course it’s not unknown to you. Always said in recognition of one’s efforts, and in this family you’ve meshed with in the emergency department, it went a long way to hear that phrase after the intense shifts you all had to handle.

Though with Dr. Robby, it had a second meaning.

Sure, he recognized everyone’s hard efforts in saving lives, pairing his words with a nice pat on the shoulder and his signature smile. But he would never admit to giving you special treatment, at least away from prying eyes.

As a fourth year resident in the Pitt, you’ve already made somewhat of a name for yourself, and it didn’t go unnoticed by your other colleagues, especially Dr. Robby. You impress him on a daily basis, your quick reflexes in adapting to current situations is a trait he’s always admired, your ability to keep your cool in moments that would otherwise crack everyone else brings a mix of admiration and envy. You weren’t particularly the sensitive type, often reminding him of Dr. Abbott and his demeanor at times, but he knows it’s because you’re determined, because you hold yourself to a different standard and aim to command any room you step foot in regardless of the circumstances.

He can sympathize with that, he was like that years ago. It’s nice to watch the spark take over when you’re in your element.

You can be confident and borderline cocky at times, but never arrogant. You barely flinch when you need to crack open someone’s chest, or when you were covered with blood after a particularly extreme trauma, steady hands working despite the adrenaline running through you. Michael liked when you called the shots before he did, and usually he didn’t need to ask for your thoughts on the cases assigned to you when you were already so persistent in sharing your resolutions.

He had no choice but to commend you for your hard work, always slipping a quick “good job” after doing something right or a “job well done” once things were taken care of. You’d never show it to anyone else, but Michael knew the impact of his words, how your eyes gleamed for the slightest second as you fought off the urge to smile. It was amusing to say the least, so he didn’t stop, he couldn’t, not when it encouraged you to push your own limits, to be the best, if not for yourself then for him.

He reveled in it.

Your consistent performance is what resulted in this mess you found yourself in. Going from being Dr. Robby’s trusted and favorite resident to something more over the course of a year was enough to give you whiplash.

It began with a brief “pep talk” in an empty on-call room. You thought you had fucked up royally on the last patient you had, that maybe Dr. Robby had a different opinion towards your approach. Yet, he surprises you when he leans down to kiss you, your breath hitching in your throat and instantly reaching to grasp his shoulders, fingers digging into the material of his hoodie in an attempt to bring him closer.

Those two little words became a frequent saying in the safety of his apartment, where you often went after your shifts synched up. Michael always needed to give you more than just words, to feed you the reverence you deserved—craved even.

He always tells you when your lips were wrapped around his length, sucking lavishly while he keeps your hair out of your face. Your throat grew sore from the tip of him slipping inside, lips plump with your constant sucking. Pulling away with a smile on your spit covered face and placing a wet kiss to his crown, the words tumble out of him with a groan.

“That’s a good girl. Taking all of me like that. Good job, baby.”

Or when it was his head between your thighs, licking and eating at you with such fervor, your thighs shake every time. Clutching at his head, you’ve already fallen over the edge twice, and it was never enough for Michael. Like an addict, he ate you up until his jaw ached, refusing to leave his spot from your cunt until tears streaked down your face and your overworked pussy throbbed from all of his attention. Despite his overwhelming touch, he was always there to keep you grounded with his slick covered mouth.

“Doing such a good job for me. You got one more in you, right? One more and I’ll give you what you need.”

And the other instances where he was inside you? Those were probably your favorite pastimes.

Your legs were hanging loosely over his hips as he pummeled into you, back arching up as your arms slung around his neck. Moaning against the side of his throat, Michael cradled the back of your head with one hand, the other keeping your lower back at the right angle, letting his cock fill every crevice so deliciously you had no other choice but to just take him. Completely smothered under him, your senses were overwhelmed with him; his scent, his touch, his voice. Tears pooled at your lash line, cheeks warm under the intense gaze of the man hovering above you, stuttering on your own breath that turns into a moan at the precision of his thrusting. He only smirks above you, lifting up one of your thighs to his shoulder and diving inside you even deeper.

“Been such a good girl for me, letting me take care of you like this. I know, I know. I got you.”

Your moment of daydreaming is cut short as you’re back in the commotion of the Pitt, the beeping of the machines and people yelling here and there grab your attention once more, deciding to look down at your clipboard to review what else was on your roster for the day.

“Reviewing the caseload?”

You didn’t need to look in the direction of the person’s voice to know it was Dr. Robby, slyly eyeing up at you from where he sat, typing some notes on the computer. The black glasses he wore sat on his sharp nose, a staple to the rest of his appearance along with his cargo pants and baggy zip-up.

“Had so much on my plate I started to lose count. You still want me to handle that patient in Room 5? Heard it was a bad one.” He glances at you, slightly tilting his head to the side with the faintest smug grin on his aged face.

“Yeah, I do. Plus, I know you’re always up for a challenge. I’ll be there in five.” You rolled your eyes at that, shaking your head with a sigh and turning on your heel to head towards your next patient, fully aware of the set of eyes following you from behind.

You didn’t mind being Dr. Robby’s favorite resident. After all, a little special treatment never hurt.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

#dr robby x reader #dr robby smut #dr robby x you #michael robinavitch smut #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #dr robby #doctor robby #noah wyle #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt #ovaryacted fics #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

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dixons-sunshine · 25 days ago

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Heated | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: After messing up on a mission, Joel was pissed at you. When the two of you got back to Jackson, you got into a heated argument, and it ended in the best way—with you sprawled beneath him, naked, and showing you both punishment and pleasure.

Genre: Smut.

Era: Jackson!Joel.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, porn without plot, dom!Joel (I think), edging, orgasm denial, praise, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampie (but this is fanfiction so it doesn’t result in pregnancy), probably more warnings I’m missing.

Word count: 2k.

A/N: I don’t know what this is. I got an idea last night while very tired and had to write it out. I hope this is somewhat okay, and that y’all like this! (Smut isn’t my strongest writing suit so I apologize if it’s poorly written.)

You knew you fucked up. It was a risky venture, one you knew you needed to take seriously and follow Joel’s instructions, and you did. You followed them to a T… until you saw a shotgun perched high on top of a shelf, and you decided to try and get it—against Joel’s orders. You figured it would be easy—just grab the gun and you’d be good—but you didn’t account for the fact that the shelf would topple at the slightest movement, trapping you underneath it and alerting a swarm of infected to your location.

There were no casualties, thankfully. Everyone returned to Jackson relatively unscathed, with only a few cuts and bruises to show that there had been any trouble at all. Still, Joel was pissed, and he made no effort to hide it when he stormed into your shared home, with you hot on his tail with an apology on your lips. An apology led to a heated argument, an argument led to a hot, steamy kiss, and that led to your current predicament:

Sprawled naked under Joel’s strong, solid body, his fingers knuckle deep in your warm heat, with absolute filth spewing from the man’s mouth as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of pure, unadulterated bliss—pleasure that he’s brought you closer to but denied three times already.

“Look at you,” Joel cooed almost condescendingly, his brown, coffee-like eyes barely visible behind his blown pupils, “all wet ‘n squirmin’ f’me.” He pushed his fingers in, curling them to hit that one delicious spot inside of you that had you gasping his name. “Feel that, Darlin’? Does it feel good?” You nodded weakly, but that wasn’t enough for him. “Use your words, Baby.”

Joel curled his fingers again, making you moan loudly and buck your hips up against his hand. “S—it’s so good, Joel. Oh, fuck!”

“I know it is.” He knew you were close. He could feel it in the way your walls fluttered against his fingers, drawing them in even deeper. He brought his thumb to your clit, smirking in satisfaction when you jerked at his touch, wanton like moans filling the otherwise quiet air.

“Joel—” you gasped, your nails digging into the bare flesh on his back.

“This what you wanted, huh? Pickin’ an argument with me, knowin’ it would end like this? Knowin’ I can’t deny my girl her pleasure?” When you only whined in response, he chuckled. “I know, I know. I’m bein’ an ass, not lettin’ you come. Still, I gotta teach ya a lesson somehow. Gotta learn that I wouldn’t tell you to do somethin’ if it wasn’t for your safety.”

The words that fell from his mouth were pure, utter filth, and it stoked the fire deep in your belly. It all felt so good. So, so good. You were right on the edge, ready to dive headfirst into the pool of euphoria down below, when suddenly—

He stopped. He fucking stopped. Again.

You were close to tears at this point. “Joel,” you whined, shivering when he slid his fingers out of you with practiced ease. “Joel, please. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, just please, please Joel. I—”

“Sh, sh,” he shushed you, his smirk ever present. His fingers came up to work at his jeans, unbuckling his belt and throwing it to the side, before working at his buttons. “I know you won’t, Baby. I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson, huh?”

You nodded eagerly, pushing yourself up on your elbows and reaching to help him with his jeans. “I have. I swear, just please—”

“I know what you need, Darlin’,” he spoke gruffly, pushing his jeans and boxers down in one swoop, kicking them off and to the side. He lowered himself to hover over your body, coaxing you to make yourself comfortable against the pillows on the bed. “I’m gonna give it to ya, I promise, but the only way I’m allowin’ you to finish is if it’s with me stuffed deep inside so that I can feel you when ya do. S’that alright?”

Like he even needed to ask. “Yes. God, fuck yes.” Your hands trailed down his muscular chest, over his toned abdomen, all the way to the base of his rock hard length. Gently grasping it, you smiled seductively when a deep groan emitted from his chest, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. “I need you to fuck me, Joel.”

Joel’s eyes snapped open, and he peered down at you, his gaze hard and full of lust. Inhaling sharply, he slowly pried your hand away from his dick, replacing it with his own. He stroked himself once, twice, before lining himself up with your entrance, his eyes locking with yours.

“Ready?” he inquired lowly, his voice strained like it took every ounce of willpower to hold himself back.

Nodding, you wrapped your arms around his neck, coaxing him closer. “Fuck yeah.”

Joel smirked in satisfaction. “That’s my girl.” Without any warning, he plunged his cock deep into your warm, welcoming cunt, groaning as he bottomed out inside of you.

A gasp-moan ripped from your chest. “Joel!” you practically screamed, the pleasure shooting through you like a shooting star. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your eyes screwing shut.

Joel looked down at you and clicked his tongue. He grasped your chin in one of his hands, the other one holding yours, your fingers laced together next to your bed, holding his body up so that he didn’t crush you. “Uh-uh,” he chided softly, “look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes.”

You obeyed, and opened your eyes. The sight on top of you was as close to heaven as you’d get. His face was flushed red, his chest sweaty and heaving, his brows furrowed in concentration. He looked downright good enough to devour.

And then, he started moving.

The pace started slow at first, merely a careful pull out and a gentle thrust back in, just to get you adjusted and used to the feeling. But when your fingers disappeared into his salt and pepper-coloured locks of hair, he took that as a sign to up his game. Pulling back almost all the way, he drove back in with a hard thrust, completely knocking the air from your chest.

“FUCK!” you exclaimed, a mix of a whine and a moan escaping you. “Fuck, Joel!”

“I know,” he said with a smirk, driving his dick deep inside of you. His pace was brutal, unforgiving, but oh so good. You were sure you would be walking funny the next day, but you couldn’t care less.

“Oh my—shit!” you panted, your voice several octaves higher than normal. “God��Jesus Christ.”

Joel chuckled, but chose not to comment on how what you two were doing was anything but holy. “Fuck,” he groaned when he felt you clench around his cock, dropping his head to slant his mouth across yours for a hot, searing kiss, all teeth and tongue. “You’re squeezin’ me so good right now,” he muttered against your lips, before lifting his head again to look at you, your lips connected with a single string of saliva. “She’s so greedy, pullin’ me in deeper. Can’t get enough, huh?” A pull out, and a thrust back in.

You tried to reply, but your brain was absolute mush. You were already so close again. You begged to whatever entity was listening that he’d actually let you finish this time. You would not be able to handle being denied your orgasm for a fifth time.

As if knowing your body better than you did, Joel knew you were teetering on the brink of euphoria again. He knew that it all depended on whether or not he would let you finish. However, deciding that he’d punished you enough, he let go of your chin and snaked his hand between your bodies, gliding down until he slipped a finger between your folds, nudging right against the small bundle of nerves that so desperately craved his attention, before pressing down against it with his calloused thumb.

You jerked against his touch, your back arching and pulling his cock even deeper, if that was possible. His length dragged against your walls just right, continuously hitting that spot inside of you that only Joel knew, and his thumb rubbed slow, tight circles against your puffy clit. The coil in your stomach was pulled taut, one moment away from snapping completely.

Joel felt your walls clench around his cock, and he knew you were right there. All you needed was a little assistance.

“You gonna come for me, Baby?” he asked huskily, gritting his teeth and trying to stave off his own release that he felt approaching at a rapid pace. “You gonna gush all over my cock? Lemme feel it? Lemme know how good you feel?”

Like his words were the key to the floodgates, the rubber band in your belly snapped, and tidal waves of bliss washed over your body. You came undone with a shout of Joel’s name, your legs shaking and your hands falling from his back to the bedsheets, gripping the covers in your white knuckled fists.

This orgasm was intense. You don’t think you’d ever experienced one quite like this before. It was an amazing, blazing hot, earthshaking experience, one that had you seeing stars. You swore you died and went to heaven. You had to. There was no way you were alive right now.

Slowly coming down from that euphoric high, you muttered a soft, quiet, “Joel,” which was all it took to sent the man reeling over the edge as well.

With one, two, three final thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt, spilling thick ropes of come deep inside your warm heat, profanities spewing from his lips. His eyes screwed shut as his body shook with pleasure, his arms shaking and giving in beneath him, his body weight dropping on top of you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. However, you barely noticed, instinctively wrapping your arms around him and stroking his back with your nails.

You didn’t know how much time passed before either of you fully came to. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours, hell, it could have been days. The two of you stayed like that for a while, your breathing uneven and your bodies flushed hot, just basking in the afterglow of an amazing experience. It was perfect.

“Damn,” Joel began in a low mutter, raising his head to look at you, “I wouldn’t be opposed if all of our fights ended like that.”

That drew a laugh from you, before you turned more serious. “I really am sorry, Joel,” you began sincerely. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid.”

Joel shook his head, before pulling his softening cock out of you with a low hiss and dropping down next to you, pulling you into his arms. “Hey, it’s alright,” he reassured you, placing a soft, gentle kiss to the top of your head. “You fucked up, but we’re all fine, yeah? We’ve all made mistakes like that. No need to go beatin’ yourself up over it.”

Slowly nodding, you nuzzled your face into his chest, sighing in content when his strong, muscular arms pulled you tighter against him. The silence between the two of you stretched for a good thirty seconds, before you chuckled, gaining Joel’s attention again.

“What?”

You smiled knowingly. “Now I know what to do when you’re pissed at me.”

Joel rolled his eyes, a hint of a smile on his features, his stubble rubbing against your hair. “I know what I said, but don’t push it, woman.”

“Why? Afraid you’ll lose your edge?”

“...shut up.”

With a laugh, you shook your head and closed your eyes, relaxing your body against Joel’s. “I love you too, Miller.”

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noisilyscreechingsong · 1 year ago

Text

Damian is de-aged to a baby and lost in Gotham. A magic user hit him with some kind of spell. His legs don’t work as well and he has trouble walking. That’s when a man appears and squats down with a tilt of his head.

“Yea, you are definitely not supposed to be out here, little guy.”

Damian glares at the man, early twenties, stubble along his jaw, ragged clothes, and dark bags under his eyes.

The man turns his head to look at the brick wall.

“Are you sure?”

And now he was talking to a wall. Curses. Of course he would be found by a crazy person.

The man suddenly hangs his head with a deep sigh. He regains himself quickly and stands. Moving closer to put his hands under Damian arms to lift him to perch on his hip.

Damian squirms to get down but refuses to make a sound. The last time he opened his mouth like this it was a pathetic baby sound. He couldn’t let this man see him like this.

“Looks like you’re coming home with me, little guy. I can tell you’ve got some spirit in you. Good, you’ll need it.”

Not ominous at all.

Damian stays with the man, mostly because he couldn’t physically drive a car, but also because he was almost always with him. The man would talk to air at the most random times. Obviously a schizophrenic. But Damian had to admit this man, Danny he comes to find out through a neighbor baby talking at him, has been genuinely trying to take care of him and take care of him well. Well, to the best of his abilities anyway.

He feeds him organic purées that don’t taste half bad, except the carrots, that one was unacceptable. Danny cleans him regularly despite his crappy apartment and makes sure he is dressed appropriately for the weather. He makes an effort to take him out to the park to play in the sandbox or just walk around discovering ‘new’ things.

Damian doesn’t need a parent, he outgrew the concept when he was five and technically he already had one, but he could tell Danny would make an excellent father. Some mistakes can be overlooked compared to the effort he was putting in.

The only concerning thing was the talking to thin air. It took Damian an embarrassing amount of time to figure out the reason Danny was visiting all these random people and the graveyard. (Sometimes he will set Damian down to ‘play’ in the grass at the cemetery. It was quite odd.)

He was talking to ghosts. It wasn’t thin air or imaginary friends, no it was actually dead people. The reason Damian actually believes this is for two reasons.

One, Danny shows true results. Damian observes closely whenever they visit a ‘client’ and Danny always has accurate information despite never looking up or researching anything going in.

Two, he never calls himself a medium or psychic. He doesn’t boast about his ability to see ghosts. He does what he does to help the ghosts move on to the other side. Closure is what Danny always says. Closure for the family and the victim. In Gotham, there are a lot of victims.

Damian adjusts to his new life with Danny. It’s been five months and he’s getting used to being small and vulnerable. He’s allowed to be messy and whiny and childish. Danny never scolds him like Mother did. The man has never hit him or raised his voice at him and never expects anything from him. He encourages his progression to speak and walk, but doesn’t expect the best out of him.

It’s… nice. A good break if anything.

They are at the park when one of the bats spot him and pauses. Danny is blowing bubbles into the air and Damian tries to pop as many as he can. It’s a silly game with no clear rules, but Damian finds it entertaining nonetheless.

“Hi there! Is he yours?”

Dick Grayson wears a bright smile, but Damian can see the tightness around his eyes.

“Huh? Oh, yea, this is Damian,” Danny answers.

He had written it with the wooden blocks Danny had given him one week in. Danny took one look at the name on the ground, laughed loudly and ran with it.

“Do you mind if I say hi? He’s so cute.”

Danny looks puzzled by the request but ends up shrugging his shoulders, not seeing a problem with letting a stranger get close to Damian. (Damian knew Danny’s intense eyes were watching Dick’s every move. He was very protective like that.)

“Sure.”

Dick squats down to search Damian’s green eyes. Damian stares back just as intensely.

“Hey there, Damian. My name is Dick.”

Damian gives him a flat look at Dick’s terrible introduction.

“Grayson.”

Although with his little baby teeth not fully in it sounds more like ‘way-shah’.

Relief flashes across Dick’s face and he gives Damian a reassuring smile. It’s not as reassuring at he thinks it is. It promises to bring him home and restore him to his original age. Damian doesn’t know if that’s what he wants anymore.

Dick stands and gives Danny some imaginary excuse to leave quickly. Damian watches him go and so does Danny.

“Funny guy, huh Dami?”

Damian doesn’t respond and Danny notices his change in mood.

“Come here, little guy.”

He knows what Danny is going to do and willingly goes. He is pulled up into the man’s lap and held between two surprisingly muscular arms. Danny’s hugs are nice and warm. They aren’t too tight like Dick’s nor are they stiff like Bruce’s. He never thought he could enjoy human contact, but Danny has been showing him things about himself he didn’t ever know. Turns out he does like hugs and playing airplane and when Danny runs his fingers through his hair when he’s really sleepy.

“Let’s go home a little early today, huh? I’ll make spaghetti and you can be as messy as you want,” Danny promises.

Damian hums. Yes, that sounds nice.

That night Batman comes in through the window. Damian is waiting.

“Damian,” Batman whispers.

“Bah-mun.”

The flat, unamused stare is what gives him away.

Batman lets out a breath silently and reaches into the crib Danny had gotten him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Batman jerks into action, twisting to face Danny who had appeared suddenly. The door behind him is still closed.

Batman stays quiet, silently studying the man before him dressed in pajama pants and a worn t-shirt.

Danny tilts his head as he does the same. Damian has never seen the man so serious. He silently worries for the man. He didn’t want him getting hurt to unnecessarily protecting him from his father.

“I’d have to break your arm if you tried to do what it looks like you’re doing.”

Danny says it so plainly. So simple.

Batman straightens.

“He isn’t yours.”

He doesn’t say Damian is his. He doesn’t claim him as his own. Just that Danny shouldn’t have him.

Damian silently agrees because technically he’s right. He doesn’t deserve Danny. He can’t keep playing house like he’s an actual baby. But Damian is also selfish and over the last few months has been taught that it’s okay to ask for things he wants even if it’s not inherently beneficial. The stuffed dog he sleeps with every night is proof of that.

So Damian says nothing.

“He is now,” Danny answers simply like there was no other answer to such a statement.

“He needs to go back to where he belongs.”

“Over my dead body,” is the immediate response.

They stare each other down until Danny scoffs.

“Don’t think I’m not petty enough to fight you, Batman. I’ll fight anyone who wants to take him from me. Damian is mine.”

When Batman tries to forcibly take him, he ends up with a concussion, a blood nose, and two broken arms. Red Robin finds him in a dumpster the next morning.

The story continues with Damian learning how to be a child his age, Danny protecting him and doting on his brilliant son, and the Batfam’s frequent failed attempts to kidnap Damian back to them.

#dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #damian wayne #bruce wayne #batman #Damian is learning to be a kid #and enjoying it #Danny finds a lone baby in an alley #the ghost that lead him there says he was left there #Danny: okay #guess I’m a dad now #Bruce is in for a rude awakening

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